


Peach Pit

by SquidMilk



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Annoyances to Friends to Lovers, Canon Compliant, Depression, Eventual Romance, Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Drug Use, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, at least that's what we're going for, forgot to add that, just adding characters that will be major players, just making sure we cover the bases so everyone knows what they're getting into, or rather 'compliant but expanded on', some warnings for the following:, that is unless I chicken out lmao, that's subject to change, the last two are only gonna be kinda touched on, the rating will eventually change too jsyk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23906875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquidMilk/pseuds/SquidMilk
Summary: Change doesn't come naturally to the valley. Even after Francis Combs' death, his property sits empty, only to be taken back by the land. But when a stranger shows up with the missing deed to Misty Hollow Farms, it throws a wrench into the worn cogs of Pelican Town's residents. For better or worse, and for some more so than others. Who is the quiet man with the silver tongue and Mr Combs' eyes, and why only take the farm now, after four years?Sometimes you want to go where nobody knows your name...
Relationships: Shane/Male Player (Stardew Valley), Shane/Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. Empty Pastures

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! While this isn't the first fic I've written, it IS the first I've ever let go out into the world, so to speak. I've put a lot of thought into "worldbuilding" on the already great foundation Stardew Valley has going for it, so to me, the story will be canon compliant, but expanded on. This is, really, a little prologue I've written, but I hope you enjoy!

Pelican Town was sleepy and unassuming on all accounts. It was a small, albeit tight knit community insulated from the outside world. From the forests to the west and east, the mountains to the north and the ocean at its south, it had been in a near perfect location for its level of isolation. Plenty of its inhabitants saw this as a boon -- a way to a quieter life, one slower paced than that which you would find in the city.

To some, though, it was perfectly boring on all accounts, too.

Nothing much ever seemed to happen there, each day going by in much the same as the last dozen in the dull little town. It had been one such day, remarkable only in the fact that it had managed to make itself more aggravating than normal. 

Shane wandered into the room he rented at his aunt's ranch, tired and irritated from yet another day wasted working at the local Joja Mart. The only real benefit to the company's presence was that it was seemingly the only modern fixture in the otherwise dated town. He got changed out his work uniform, slipping on a pair of jeans and a t shirt he was fairly certain was clean. Sure, maybe the shirt had that hole in the seam from tugging at it, but it at least smelled decent and would get covered by his hoodie anyway. Some days, he would bother with the extra effort of a shower before heading back out, but today was not a day in which he found himself with enough energy or care to bother with it. He slipped the worn jacket over his shoulders, consciously avoiding his reflection in the mirror hanging from his door as he opened it to step out. He only had so much time to get out and down the road before Jas would be home and Marnie waiting for her. And only for them to see him headed straight back out. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his niece or aunt, he certainly cared for the both of them. But with the day he had and was still having, and the thoughts running through his brain like a swarm of hornets, he simply didn't want to have to put them through... well, putting up with him while he was like this. With himself having to face the underlying guilt of yet another night of drowning his grey matter in cheap beer in an attempt to get it to still. Or, perhaps by some miracle of Yoba themself, to get it to stop fully.

As he stepped from his room into the kitchen, Marnie was, thankfully, distracted with making dinner. Shane tried his best to slip by her unnoticed, but just as he started to round the corner into the foyer --

"You headed to the saloon tonight, then?" she said, barely lifting her eyes from the stove to look at him.

As if he wasn't there nearly every night. It was hardly a "secret" between them, more like something they danced around in an effort to keep the peace and keep from really naming it. As well as a way of keeping Jas shielded from the understanding of why he was really gone most nights. Aside from that, too, was their unofficial but mutually beneficial agreement in place. He didn't bother her about her "secret relationship" with the mayor and (so long as he stayed safe and out of trouble) she didn't bother him about his... drinking habits.

"Yeah," he muttered, dryly, "yeah, I'll be back later." 

As easily as he could manage both swiftness and an air of nonchalance, he turned the corner, grabbed his overcoat off the wall hook, and slipped his arms through the sleeves. He had almost made it out without another word, almost escaped the smog of awkward discomfort that lingered between them, with only the sound of a sizzling pan to see him off. His hand on the door knob, about to turn, when Marnie spoke back up again.

"Don't stay out too late. And be safe, Shane."

The concern was obvious in the tone of her voice, in the way she said his name. She wouldn't directly address it, as it was the terms of the boundaries they had set up around each other, and she would certainly honor that much. But clearly she had become all too attuned to the shifting of his moods and picked up on the especially bad funk he was in tonight. He figured he should have felt guilty, but couldn't seem to find the will to do so right now.

"Don't worry, I will." And before anything else could be said, he opened the door and stepped into the evening air.

It was turning out to be a cold evening, he could have told as much from his walk home from work. With the light fading, and taking any warmth with it, it was that much more obvious, though. The last snow of the winter may have passed, but spring wouldn't take winter's place that easily. It would hang onto the land for at least a few more weeks still, just as it had in years previous -- no matter how antsy livestock or people alike might get awaiting warmer weather.

Jas would be coming down the road from town any time now, sooner than he usually planned for, since his boss had held him back at work after he was supposed to be out. He figured himself better to be absent altogether than to appear briefly only to immediately leave, and headed up toward what he considered the "scenic route" on his walks. He turned away from the main road and headed on the dirt path that led to the road north, up into the old and abandoned property beyond the trees. His timing seemed to have paid off, the chatting of Jas and her tutor, Penny, playing background noise along with the crunch of his shoes on what was now gravel road. 

The sound still ran through him with a pang of guilt. Was it really better to be an absentee godfather, rather than a peerlessly shitty one who was at least trying? His own experiences with fathers (god or otherwise) didn't exactly set the best example for answering that question. 

God, this kind of thinking was exactly why he needed a drink, tonight especially. Without the cushion of a buzz, those thoughts were just going to keep rattling around in his head, doing more damage than they had any right to. He kept up his pace along the road -- this roundabout way would take him nearly twice as long to get to the saloon, and if he didn't want his brain to keep dragging him down, he needed to not get too distracted or slowed on his way there.

Shane found himself at the old cattle gate that cut the rest of the road off from the fields of the old property he would be heading through. The imposing chain and padlock connecting the two grates might have been enough to deter some, but the only thing making him wary was the amount of rust on the now mostly exposed metal. He had made this climb easily in previous years, especially when he was younger and more fit. But it had been quite a while since he had even tried, and even then it had never been after a physically exhausting day or with sweating, shaking hands (much less both). With a deep breath the steel himself, he took the first step up onto the first metal bar. As he put his full weight on it, the metal creaked and squealed, and he swore to himself he felt it give, at least a little. It held though, and after another brief moment, he was able to throw one leg over the top, then the other, and make the short drop down to the other side. 

In any other season, the fields would have been impossible to get through in any kind of timely fashion. With most plant life either dead or dormant through the winter months, the old farmland was much easier to get through -- no waist-high grass to wade through, for one. It was an old piece of property, abandoned several years back due to the death of its owner. Old Man Combs (or "Frankie", as he'd been known to Marnie, among others) had moved into town to retire with his wife many years back. He'd been a pillar of the community, a friend to many who lived in the town, and had an infectious laughter and spirit about him. Or, at least he'd been told. Truthfully, Frankie had passed no more than half a year before Shane and Jas moved from Zuzu City to live with his aunt here in town. He remembered, though, even months after Old Man Combs' passing, the status of his farm was a point of gossip. Shane had been... preoccupied with his own concerns and hangups at the time to pay too much attention to the details. It had been a lot of adjusting and finding ways to cope with his new situation (i.e. drinking) at that time, and not surprisingly, a lot of the details were either lost to him or fuzzy now.

He stomped through the dead and fallen grass in the hollow the farm was nestled in. No matter what had happened to the farm's ownership years ago, it had sat untouched for those four years, allowing the forest to creep in and take over. Now, it was a known place where the younger residents of Pelican Town go to "cause trouble", as the old timers might say. To be honest, Shane was more surprised there wasn't more "trouble" on the land already. Aside from what had been nature and dilapidation's doing, nothing on the property was really that busted up. The small house hadn't been broken into, there wasn't any graffiti... Any place this level of abandoned in Zuzu City would have surely been a wreck a long time ago. Now, it was just a place to escape to which both was and wasn't Pelican Town and frankly, probably a place to go and smoke pot away from everyone else in town. Not that he had any room to judge -- at Abigail or Sebastian's age, he would have done the same thing, and he himself was guilty of trespassing there to find a quiet place to drink alone.

Shane dug his shaking hands deeper into his coat. He was starting to feel the trembling sensation up his arms, too. Damn Morris, keeping him late again. It had completely thrown off his usual routine for his evenings, and now he could feel his body making him pay for it. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and after some digging found a lone airplane bottle of Ol' Mariner rum. It was the last of his emergency stash, for times when things got to be a little much, or if he needed a little help through his day. He wouldn't have the money to get anymore anytime soon (since beer was cheaper than shooters and he could keep a tab with the saloon) but he couldn't let himself walk up to the bar acting like a junkie looking for his fix. 

As he unscrewed the small bottle, he realized now that he was right up on the little house on the property. He looked at it for a moment after stopping, puzzled. It was... well, to be frank, nicer than he remembered. Sure, it had been a while since he had actually been on the property, longer so for him to have actually been up to the house itself. But he could have sworn it didn't look as decrepit as before, and certainly not as much as it should have been. It almost even looked livable, were it not for the still broken front window. He examined it for a few moments more. Maybe Robin, the town carpenter, had taken it on as a personal project? He had heard her talking about the restoration of old and historic buildings before, but was this one house really worth the trouble? Now, it was only a rickety building in the woods, no longer someone's actual home. 

Useless, battered and worn.

Something sat heavy with him, but he couldn't pinpoint what, or why.

He was only wasting time, he realized, the small plastic bottle still in hand. He still needed to be on his was if he was even going to make it to the saloon at all. Taking one more brief moment, he looked around at the barren landscape with its leafless trees and hills of dead grass. He took a breath and let out a heavy sigh, looking back at the front face of the house. He raised the little bottle of rum up in toast to the homestead.

"To empty pastures."

And with that, Shane pressed the bottle to his lips, tipped it and swallowed its contents whole. Pushing the empty bottle into his coat pocket, he headed up the east road toward town, and toward the Stardrop Saloon.


	2. The Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's uh... been a while. I've been picking away at this chapter little bit by bit for the past months, but motivation and life gets complicated, as I'm sure anyone else living through 2020 will tell you -- but I am sorry for anyone waiting. This one's longer than the last though, and hopefully more like what following chapters will be like! Enjoy!

The last of the winter's snow was melting now, with people and nature alike seemingly grasping at any little bit of spring they could capture. Patchwork green was starting to overtake the valley, where a week earlier there had only been dirty snowdrifts and slush. Warmer, sunshiny days were making more and more appearances as of late. And while it still wasn't quite here, spring was well on its way.

Shane liked spring. It felt like coming out of a long, depressing hibernation. Like the first few waking moments in the morning, somewhere between sleep and reality. Truth be told, the dreary sameness of winter often wore him down more than in other months, and even a bit of sunshine seemed to help, even if only a little. He'd certainly felt that shift today -- he'd woken up naturally to the sun (with hardly a hangover to speak of), made breakfast with Marnie, spent time with Jas while feeding and caring for the chickens. His aunt had even given him that knowing, happy look about his unusually pleasant mood. And while he knew it would more than likely haunt him later, on one of his bad days, he couldn't help but offer back a tired and small smile of his own.

Spring didn't come without its own set of troubles, though. Most glaringly was that with it came the anniversary of what had brought him and Jas into town in the first place. But, at least, that date wasn't for a long while yet, and it was easy to put out of his mind today.

It was his day off, in fact, and it felt nice to not feel burdened, for once, by the fleeting nature of it. He found it easy to draw some comfort from the steady, predictable change the coming spring brought to the valley -- just enough so things didn't feel stagnant, but not so much it made him anxious. His drive along the east road toward town was easy, almost lazy even, as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of a song ambling through the old radio. Shopping and errands in town may be his end goal, but as the cool breeze filtered in through the cracked window, he was certainly in no rush to get there.

As the old farm truck pulled closer toward town, Shane could see now other residents walking around the square, clearly also looking for a reprieve from the cabin fever of winter on what was turning out to be an unseasonably warm day. He turned the vehicle onto the road to the somewhat makeshift lot that served for parking on the square, running his shopping list through his mind. As he drove through the gravel and toward the alleyway behind Doctor Harvey's clinic and the general store, his focus was on if Pierre had ordered back in the brand of corn he knew Marnie's chickens liked best. But as he turned fully toward the small loading and unloading area, a sight made him stomp on his breaks, pulling him out of his easy train of thought.

In the alley in front of him was a strange pickup truck with what looked like fertilizer and other farm equipment loaded in the bed. It's dark gold, almost orangey color was glaringly bright against the dim light behind the shop and Shane could only wonder why someone would willingly choose a color like that for a farm truck. It was flashy, for sure, but was bound to show every spec of dirt and inevitable nick that came with the territory of a working vehicle. In a town as small as this, where everyone knew each other, each other's vehicles were recognizable on sight. And in Pelican Town's case, much of it was foot traffic only, making the common vehicles around even fewer. Sure, occasionally, other farmers and ranchers from around the valley might come by Pierre's shop, but even those became recognizable eventually. This truck was definitely new -- it looked as if Pelican Town was the first dirt roads the otherwise shiny paint had ever seen -- and Shane knew he could never forget such a garish, hideous color as that.

To top it off, as if the ugly paint job wasn't enough -- the asshole was double parked in the only two possible spots in the tight alleyway. And crooked, no less.

Well, there went his good mood.

Shane sighed heavily, letting the irritation roll over him like sticky tar. Of course things had been going too good this morning for him to not have to deal with this jackass. Nothing good ever lasted forever, after all, and it seemed he was due some kismetic misfortune after his good morning. He knew he could pull into the space between the general store and Harvey's clinic, but it would be a tight squeeze and would make getting out of the truck awkward at best. And, as if the universe simply wanted to add insult to injury, he could start to feel the tremble in his hands rise up, likely from not having a drink since last night. Just one more thing to concern himself with as he pulled as carefully as possible into the cramped space, desperate to not piss Marnie off by damaging the already battered truck -- it's blue and silver paint chipping off in places and revealing rust. Once in place and parked, Shane pulled the hidden flask out from the inner pocket in his jacket, opened it, and took a few swigs of its boozy contents.

'Just enough to steady me out.' he told himself, even though he knew well enough that soon that would stop being his only reason for drinking today.

Gingerly, he opened the door, wincing as the door scraped the brick of the wall, and managed to awkwardly wiggle his way out of the truck, not bothering to lock it behind him. Yoba, this had all turned into such a hassle so quickly. Was he not allowed one decent, easy day off? If he actually did believe in a higher power, he would wonder what he had done in this life or another to continually be the target of their ire. But still, he tromped through the muddy alley toward the back door of the general store, knowing that if he didn't at least get this done today, his chickens would certainly be upset at not having their favorite treat when they were finally allowed to fully roam again. And if he couldn't push forward for himself, he could certainly do it for them. 

Shane stepped through the door and into the store proper, noticing the main desk was empty. He was sure Pierre was around here somewhere, quite possibly with the mystery jackass truck owner. As it was, however, he needed a few more things other than chicken feed, and wandered over to the wooden shelves that lined the wall. It was as he was looking at the grower's grit for his new chicks that he finally heard the shop owner's voice coming from the door to the storage area. He couldn't quite make out the conversation, but was positive now that Pierre was with the truck's owner, hearing another voice he didn't recognize. Truthfully, he was curious as to the kind of person who would drive such an eyesore, and waited patiently for them to emerge from the side area.

" -- Now, as far as those seeds go, I tend to keep things in stock seasonally. Y'know, parsnips and green beans don't do well in summer, so since no one buys them then, I try to move my stock on by the beginning of the season --" 

Pierre cut himself off as he walked into the shop and noticed Shane by the shelves. For a millisecond, an acerbic look ghosted across his face (he and Shane had never gotten on too well) before he restored himself to the mask of professional congeniality he normally kept. Under normal circumstances, Shane would have shot back an equally harsh expression, but was too focused on the stranger in the room.

Next to Pierre stood a taller, thin man in a dark leather bomber jacket and decidedly new work boots, a box of what were apparently seeds in his hands. His auburn hair awkwardly swooped around his face in a way that made it obvious that he was trying to grow out a business-y undercut and it was in that odd, in between stage. As he and Shane made eye contact, Shane realized that every inch of his face was spattered in dark freckles. Everything about the stranger read as 'cosmopolitan gone country', like a facsimile of what people in Zuzu City thought a ranch hand would wear. And though he had been just as ignorant once, he couldn't stop the irritated face he made at the man in front of him. 

Noticing the look, the man tore his eyes away and huffed at a strand of hair that seemed hell bent on sticking to the bridge of his nose, trying to blow it out of his face.

"Well, good morning, Shane." Pierre said in that overly courteous tone he had, especially with business matters at hand. "I don't suppose you've had the chance to meet Mr O'Leary yet?"

Mr O'Leary, as he was apparently called, simply stood there solidly, his shoulders squared off and, therefore, making his presence larger than he actually was himself. If he felt any awkwardness in the interaction, the sociably composed (but otherwise unreadable) look on his face certainly didn't show it. Something about it didn't sit right with Shane. Years of experience with his father had made him both an expert at reading -- as well as hyper aware of -- the behaviors and facial cues of others, and he prided himself on his ability to 'read people'. Yet, the stranger was made ever more strange in his placid banality. 

Then, almost unseen, Mr O'leary's eyes twitched to narrow at him just as the corner of his mouth quirked. It was then that Shane realized he'd been staring for the last several seconds, preoccupied in trying to decipher the other. Pierre had gone silent, his eyes flicking between the two of them in the puzzling silence.

"... No." Shane finally managed bluntly, not bothering to cut back the stony tone in his voice. 

Pierre cleared his throat in an attempt to cut through the tension, and it seemed to work as Mr O'Leary's face returned immediately to it's look of vague politeness. 

"Well, ahem, I'm sure you'll have time to chat later, small town and all that. Now Shane, if you don't mind, I'm going to see Mr O'Leary off --"

'You mean try to sell him something else.', Shane interjected to himself. 

"-- and I'll be back with you in just a moment."

Pierre then led his new customer out the back door to the alleyway -- and now, unquestionably, _his_ loathsome vehicle -- and left Shane back to his own devices. 

Something about the interaction still left a bad taste in his mouth. It should have been easy to pass him up as nothing more than a cocky rookie, bound to give up as soon as he realized what he was really in for. But, while that was probably still the case, something about his posturing had seemed hollow. It reminded Shane of the dead eyed smiles of the Joja customer service reps who sometimes came through. Though his at least held more subtlety, and he had to give him credit for that.

Despite the greater level of finesse, though, the disingenuousness of it remained the same. 

He couldn't help but wonder if it came with the same cruelty and disregard as theirs had.

Not long after, Pierre returned to help him with his order for the ranch. Surprisingly, the normally gossipy man didn't seem to want to do much chatting about his new customer. Be it because he, too, was in the dark about his character, or simply because of the uncomfortable previous encounter, Shane didn't much care, and was more than happy to put it out of his mind an move on with his day. Even happier so when the shop keeper revealed he had ordered back in the specific corn variety he needed, all at his aunt's request. 

The rest of his afternoon went by in relative ease, thankfully enough. He and Marnie unloaded the truck in peace, though he could tell she'd noticed his mood had soured. He showered as she worked on dinner, and felt the irritation of earlier wash down the drain and further ease away from him as he ate and listened to Jas tell them all about the deer and her fawn she and Vincent had seen near the park with Penny. 

Soon, though, the siren call of the saloon was too much to ignore, and he headed back out with a promise to Marnie to be back at a reasonable hour and a kiss on Jas's forehead as she adamantly refused to settle in for bed. He felt a pang of guilt for not being the one to put her to bed, probably like he should have been. But the hangover-like sensations that were starting to creep up seemed to have other plans.

Despite the warmth the sun provided during the day, the nights still clung to the cold like a lifeline. Shane pulled his coat over his jacket and shirt, zipping it up and tucking himself into it, not unlike how his chickens tucked into their nesting boxes in the evening. The lingering cold bit against his face as he walked himself to town, but he could hardly complain with as peaceful a night as it had been. He let his mind go as blank as he could manage, focusing on the meditative _crunch... crunch_ his boots made in the gravel of the road. He breathed in the night air and swore he could just barely smell the season's first daffodils on the breeze as he walked along his well memorized pathway.

Soon, he found himself at the Stardrop Saloon, it's outdoor lighting a beacon in the otherwise dark town. It was often (admittedly too often) and oasis of comfort for him -- a stable constant, even when things around him seemed to be chaos. Shane strode up to the small bit of a porch the building had, watching out for the wobbly step Gus always said he'd get fixed, but never quite got around to. As he opened the door, a wave of warm, soothing air greeted him, the quiet music of the jukebox traveling along with it. Gus, the owner and proprietor of the saloon, looked up from the bar and gave him a smile and nod, his smile only growing bigger as Shane offered back his own faint smirk. Emily, the lone bartender, was poised on top of step stool behind the counter, swaying absentmindedly to the music as she worked on what Shane assumed was inventory and cleaning the liquor bottles on the shelf. Lost in her own mind as she worked, she didn't notice as Shane sidled up to his usual spot at the bar, right next to the cozy warmth of the fireplace. He settled comfortably into his seat and leaned on the bar as he waited to see how long it would take her to notice his presence, a smirk on his face all the while.

There had been a time, a _long_ time ago, where Shane had found her irresistibly cute. She was a bit of an eccentric, but she was thoughtful and kindhearted, and patient with Shane, even on his bad days. And, to his then chagrin, she was also gay, though she wasn't particularly vocal about it. It had stung at the time, when he had found out. But soon, he found they made better friends, anyway. She didn't put up with Shane's shit, even if she had her own gentle way of doing so, and they both made for excellent sounding boards when the other needed someone to confide in. Even if their relationship had been unexpected for him, out of everyone in town, he found that he genuinely appreciated her friendship.

After several long moments, Shane finally couldn't hold back the brief snort of a chuckle any longer, alerting her. Uprooted from her daydream, Emily's head whipped around to look at him, her blue hair twisting around at the sudden motion. She looked at him a moment, and couldn't stifle a giggle herself as she stepped down from the top of the ladder. She smiled broadly as she pulled a mug from the chiller and began to pour him a glass of the hoppy pale ale that was his go-to when he could afford it.

"And exactly how long have you been sitting there staring at me, hm?" she chided him in a mock impersonation of an offended tone as she sat the frosted mug in front of him. 

"Long enough to nearly die of thirst over here, Em." The quip had no bite to it, though, as his lips twitched into a small smirk before taking an ample swig from his glass. The brew was bitter and crisp, its piney taste reminding him of the spruce trees growing around his aunt's farm and into the surrounding woods. The flavor and the cold mug in his hands always helped to ground him while drinking, often helping to take his mind off what was going on in his head -- or, like today, the now fading shaking feeling. 

The little bar was now starting to fill up with more patrons, as was always commonplace on weekend evenings. Emily rolled her eyes playfully at him as she sidled back up to the main stretch of the bar to assist other townsfolk with their orders, and Shane was more than happy to sit back in his little corner and aimlessly people watch. An easy task, since most of them tended to give him a wide berth, even on his good days, like today.

There seemed to be more energy to the other residents than usual, people bustling around and chatting animatedly. Lewis, the old coot of a mayor, wandered about the room, effortlessly roaming from table to table, patron to patron. Shane had his own issues with the man -- namely how he handled his and Marnie's discreet relationship status. But the man naturally had a gregarious energy to him that, on some minute level, Shane envied. The idea of socializing with that many people in one day, let alone a few hours, made him anxious by proxy. There was no doubt the old man was born for local politics.

Lewis continued his route around the main hall of the saloon while Shane persisted in sipping his beer. As he watched from his periphery, trying not to draw too much attention to his watching the mayor, he began to notice that something was amiss. There was a greater purpose to the man's stride than usual, and as he talked with members in the community, he left in his wake a gossipy enthusiasm with others. The change was especially noticeable with Pierre, who had recently come in with his wife Caroline, the two of them coasting up closer to the other end of the bar. At the mention of something from Lewis (though, over the jukebox and ambient sound of the bar, there was no way for Shane to make out what), all of a sudden Pierre was talking with his hands as much as his mouth. Caroline, too, perked up with a renewed investment in the conversation.

Emily stepped up to him, fresh glass of beer in hand ( _'Wait, when had you finished the last one?'_ ) and followed his line of sight as she set it in front of him, taking the empty in exchange. Shane took the fresh glass, gesturing subtly to the ongoing lively conversation across the bar, and a knowing smile sparked across Emily's lips.

"So, what's got them all worked up?" Emily's face perked up at the question, as if she had been dying to talk to him all night about it, but was waiting for him to ask first. He took a long drag from his drink to hide his involuntary grimace, realizing he had stepped straight into her ploy. She eagerly sat her elbows onto the bar top and leaned in close toward him, her demeanor too animated to truly seem conspiratory. She had learned over the last few years where his boundaries were in regards to his personal space, and even though a part of him wanted to flinch at the sudden proximity, Shane greatly appreciated her not fully pushing too close into his personal space. He was always thankful for her emotional astuteness and courtesy, even now with her excited demeanor.

"Oh, so you haven't heard then? It would seem our little town's getting a bit bigger -- someone's finally taking over Mr Comb's old place!"

Her zeal was lost on Shane as the pieces fell into place in his mind. Emily continued on about ' the land having a caretaker again' and 'new energy could be what the town needed', but he had inadvertently tuned her out, lost in his own thoughts. He hadn't assumed the man at the shop would be coming to Pelican Town -- there were plenty of other towns in the valley with more bustling and successful economies for up and coming farmers (he used the term loosely). He himself, along with Jas, was the newest face, arriving just shy of four years ago, now. Suddenly, Pierre's comment about 'small town chatting' made sense.

"Wait, wait, Em. So you've seen this guy?" he stopped her politely, wanting to confirm it was, in fact, who he was worried about. An apathetic gaze and smirk that didn't reach the eyes flashed in his memory.

"Well, not personally, no. But I have seen him around. Lewis was showing him around a bit, earlier."

The chances of it being two different people was nearly impossible. But something in him required that confirmation.

"Ok, so, this guy -- was he kinda tall, red hair --"

"Auburn, but go on."

"-- Yeah, yeah, same thing. Looks like he belongs at a city farmer's market and not an _actual farm_?"

"Shane, that's not nice..." But it didn't keep her from snickering behind her hand.

"Fuck..." Shane sighed heavily, putting his head in his hand and leaning onto the bar. "Yeah, I met him... sorta. Didn't exactly get off on the best foot. Why'd he buy that dump, anyway?" He interject the question before she could ask about their meeting, not wanting any potential prying. 

Before Emily could answer, they both realized that Lewis had stepped up to the corner of the bar, and Shane gripped the handle of his mug tighter at the proximity. 

"Well," the mayor huffed, mustache twitching with what Shane assumed was exasperation, "I'll have you know that 'dump' belonged to Mr O'Leary's grandfather, a man who deserves far more respect than that." Lewis directed his attention to Emily, not so subtly snubbing Shane. If Shane and Pierre's relationship was tense, than his relationship with Lewis was downright antagonistic, made only worse by Shane unwittingly speaking ill of the man's deceased friend. 

"If the young man is anything like either of his grandparents, he's sure to have the land whipped into shape in no time." There was a pride in Lewis's words, but Shane suspected it was directed more toward his grandparents than Mr O'Leary himself.

"So, his name is Ey-o-in, right? That's what I'd heard." Emily chirped, keen to get the conversation into a more hospitable direction.

_Ey-o-in_? What kind of bullshit fantasy name was that? It sounded like something out of one of the storybooks Shane read to Jas to get her to sleep.

Lewis chuckled at the stilted attempt of her pronunciation. "It's Eoin, actually. From what I understand, it's a regional spelling. E-O-I-N instead of the usual O-W-E-N. Don't let him catch you saying it like that though, I accidentally did earlier today and he was swift to correct me!" Another laugh punctuated his comment. 

A perfectly fake sounding name for a perfectly fake person, as far as Shane was concerned. The mayor and Emily continued to enjoy their laugh before he continued his rotation around the room and she went back to tending the bar. Shane sat in silence again, mulling the information over in his mind while finishing off his second beer. Soon, he was on a third, and as he began to lose himself in his buzz, he allowed himself to wonder if someone like that was an omen of ill will upon the already struggling community. As much as the shop keeper irritated him, Shane knew the JojaMart he wasted his days working at was nipping at Pierre's heels for business. And Morris, the franchise owner, had every intention of wiping the general store off the face of the earth, if he could manage it. As it stood now, it was inevitable -- the town was dying slowly, and one more person jumping onto a sinking ship can't be a hero, only a fool. 

On his forth drink, he thought again on unfeeling hazel eyes, lifeless and cold, calculating him in the same way his boss did. A butcher in an abattoir, sizing up the next pig in line. He felt them bore into him and worried if, soon enough, they would show the cruelty he was so sure was there.

On his fifth drink, the words 'Eoin' and 'Omen' swirled in his pickling brain, the alliteration only partially lost on him.


End file.
